The Woodpecker from Hell
by blindkitten
Summary: A poisonous creature leaves Dean without emotional walls, which is harder on both of the brothers than they think. Set after Scarecrow. Seriously Limp!Dean. T for safety mostly. No slash.
1. The Night of Many Sighs

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Ever. I'm the least own-y person on the planet. Even my socks have holes in them.**

"Dean, you're a jerk," Sam managed to get through clenched teeth, driving the Impala as fast as he could to a cheap motel somewhere in Nowheresville, Indiana.

"Dude, it's not even that bad. It's like a huge paper cut, bitch," Dean replied, lifting his shirt to look at the small scrape on his collar bone blearily.

Sam rolled his eyes, looking out the window at the fields around them. It was getting dark, and he just wanted to be at the motel already. "Dean, how many times did I tell you those things were poisonous?" he said, sighing.

"Too many," Dean said, laying back into the seat, blinking away what Sam figured was another wave of dizziness, which he'd been having ever since the thing they were hunting (affectionately called "The Woodpecker of Hell" by Dean) had got him with its incredibly long tongue. The brothers had both gotten it with multiple bullets, burned it, and Sam had had to lug his severely disoriented brother out of the woods to the Impala. Dean hadn't even suggested driving, which meant he was_ really _dizzy.

"Clearly not enough," Sam griped, though he knew it wasn't his brother's fault.

"How was I supposed to know it could fly? That was your job… Research boy!" Dean shot back, clearly incapable of thinking of a witty nickname to call Sam.

"Creative," Sam said, trying and mostly failing to stifle a grin. Dean was obviously almost out of it, but he appreciated his brother's humor. Which, of course, didn't stop him from hassling Dean. "Are you still with me?" he asked, seeing Dean bring his hand to his forehead.

"Yeah, yeah," Dean mumbled. "Man, I hate paper cuts." He looked up again, his hand falling lazily back to his lap. He blinked a few times. "I thought you said this stuff wouldn't kill me," he said, sounding accusatory, as he saw how fast Sam was driving.

"It won't," Sam said confidently. "I just want to get to the motel before the worst of this hits."

Dean groaned quietly, sandwiching his left arm between his forehead and the dashboard. "This isn't it?"

Sam rolled his eyes. He didn't even know why he told his brother things. If he remembered, he didn't admit it. "I told you Dean, this part is just to keep you from running from it. The next few phases of the poison are for it to feed."

"I know, I know. And then it feeds off my emotions. Save me the lecture the second time," Dean moaned.

So he did remember, he just really, really felt like crap. Sam felt slightly guilty for chewing his brother out, but maybe that was just what Dean wanted. To take his mind off of the discomfort and act like everything was OK. He mustered up his best bitch-face, though he wasn't sure Dean saw it from under his elbow, and went on. "Well, if you'd just listened the first time," he griped, silently thanking every god he could think of as the motel sign pulled up in front of them. "We wouldn't be in this situation." For good measure, he added a quick, "Jerk."

"Bitch," Dean mumbled, a concerning time later, as Sam parked. "Are we here?" He sat up, looking around, eyes wide and hazy.

Sam was already out of the car, and went around, opening the door for his brother. "Yeah, we're here, man. Come on, let's get you inside."

Dean, to his credit, reached his arm over Sam's shoulder, letting his brother pull him up out of the car. He had stopped arguing his fine-ness since his third almost faceplant in the woods. Sam wrapped one arm around Dean's waist. They hobbled forward, swerving awkwardly every time Dean's feet slid out from under him, but they made it to the door all the same.

There were deep tremors running through his brother's body by the time Sam opened the door, and Sam was worried about his brother. He'd read up on the poison before they'd gone after the creature, since it was an odd sort of poison. It worked manly on the brain, causing dizziness and lack of coordination to slow down the prey, then slowly breaking down the victim's mental walls to allow the creature to feed on the person's emotions. Worst of all, it seemed that while the poison was the sort of thing you could fight against, it was ill advised, which didn't bode well for Dean.

Sam helped his brother to the further bed, knowing that the bed nearest to the door was the position of the defender, which was, for once, not Dean. Dean looked like the bed was nothing short of heaven, and the minute he touched it, he crawled forward and buried his face in the pillow. He shuddered suddenly, reluctantly turning his face to the side to look at Sam mournfully. Sam sighed, pulling off his brother's boots.

"You're only making it worse, fighting it, you know," he said. As if to prove his point, Dean shuddered again, his whole body tensing.

"Well, forgive me for not wanting some freaky demon poison tear my soul open," Dean grumbled, shivering.

"Dean, this is like a fly caught in a spider's web," Sam said, keeping his voice steady. "The more you struggle, the worse it gets. You can cause some serious brain damage if you don't let it happen."

Dean huffed, clenching his teeth. "Man, this is gonna…" he shuddered again, a low moan rising somewhere in his throat. "…suck." His green eyes struggled to focus on Sam.

"Seriously, Dean. The creature's dead, the only person here is me, you can ride this through, OK? No one's here to see you be a wuss."

Dean shuddered yet again, closing his eyes. His breath caught, his fingers clawed weakly at the sheets, and when he opened his eyes again, he was breathing heavily. "'Specially can't… let m' guard down 'round you, Sammy," he mumbled, shivering

Sam sighed, rubbing at his temple. "Jesus, Dean, really?" He grasped at something to say, and sighed again. He'd be lucky if his lungs didn't get tired and stop working before tonight was over. "It's OK. You're my big brother, and that's not gonna change because you have one moment of vulnerability." _And it wasn't that long ago that the shifter told me a lot of what you think… _he added silently. "Sammy…" Dean said, his voice stronger again, struggling to focus his eyes on Sam. "I just… I can't just give up!"

"Unless you want to lose the use of your legs, I suggest you try your best!" Sam snapped, seeing his brother flinch slightly. He decided to use his leverage and softened his tone. "Dean, please," he begged, pulling out the puppy dog eyes.

Dean melted under his gaze. Dean knew what was best for himself, Sam knew, and the foolproof puppy dog eyes were just the last straw on the back of a breaking bravado. "Fine. But I'll have you know, this poison feels like it's touching my brain in dirty places," Dean snapped, looking like a sulking child. Sam snickered, making Dean scowl harder. His eyes flickered over to Sam's. They looked hard, but Sam knew the fear in his brother's eyes. "What'll happen now?" he asked, sounding mostly nonchalant.

"You'll just fall asleep. The poison will trigger a stage of R.E.M. sleep that will let it 'scan' your brain. Then, it locates the parts of your brain that put up emotional defenses and paralyzes them." Dean shuddered, though Sam doubted it was the poison, since Dean had been slowly relaxing as they talked, eyes fixed on him. "Hopefully, you'll sleep through that, too, since it's apparently a fairly unnerving experience." Dean's eyes were drooping, and he looked almost ready to drift off. "After that, though, you'll definitely wake up. Then… we'll see what happens, OK?"

"Mmmmkay," Dean mumbled, blinking sleepily.

"Just go to sleep Dean, alright?" Sam said softly, trying to coax his brother into relaxing just the little that he needed to slip entirely into sleep. Dean managed a fraction of a nod before his eyes drifted closed and his breath evened out entirely. Sam waited a moment, then ruffled his brother's hair with one hand before he got up and went to his own bed. He had no idea what was waiting for them when Dean woke up, but he wanted as much sleep as he could before Dean did.

It wasn't as hard as he worried it might be. Though sleep didn't come easy to him these days, they'd been running and jumping through the woods plenty before he'd had to drag his none-too-light brother back to the Impala on hill-ridden paths. He was exhausted, and he was asleep before he hit the pillow.

-X-

"Sammy." Sam opened his eyes, pulling himself up out of the blackness of sleep. "Sammy." He blinked, trying to piece together where he was, what was going on. "Sammy!"

He shot up. Dean was looking at him, looking as panicked as Dean ever got. He stumbled to his brother's side. "What's the matter, Dean?" Dean still had his emotions in check, so he was fairly sure the poison hadn't run its course.

"I can't do it, Sam," Dean gasped. "I can't." He focused his eyes on Sam, the bright sheen of tears just barely working its way across his eyes.

"Yes you can. Nothing's gonna happen to you, Dean. Alright? I'm right here. Everything's gonna be OK."

Dean mumbled something that sounded like, "brain molesting," then gasped, shivering, his hand shooting out and reaching for something. Sam silently reached to take his hand. Dean had rolled onto his back at some point, letting Sam see all of his face. This wasn't any fun for Dean, Sam could see that much. "Just relax, OK? I know it feels like giving up, but you have to let this happen, Dean."

Dean squeezed on his hand, his breath getting faster. "Nuh," he managed in protest, before seeing Sam's all-powerful puppy dog eyes and caving. He let out one, long breath to calm himself and slowly tried to calm his breathing, his eyes pleading silently with Sam. Sam squeezed his hand supportively.

A quick cry tore from Dean's lips, almost turning into a sob before Dean arched, his eyes rolling back into his head. "Dean?" Sam asked, hearing his heart thundering in his ears. Dean gave a pained gasp, then moaned, writhing, as if trying to escape something. His hand tightened like a boa on Sam's, then suddenly went limp.

Dean collapsed into the bed, his eyes rolling back into view and lingering on the ceiling, unfocused and looking oddly blank and broken. Sam felt a shiver crawl over him. "Dean?" he asked, putting one hand on his brother's chest and shaking him gently. "Dean, is it over?"

There was no reply. Sam unraveled his hand from his brother's to touch his face, not expecting the sudden and violent reaction. Dean shot up, nearly giving the younger Winchester a heart attack, acting like the average drown victim. His hands scrabbled desperately, trying to gain purchase on Sam's shoulders and pulling him closer. "NO! Sammy, please no, don't leave me, please, please, no, please, SAMMY!" Dean cried, reduced to sobs.

"Dean!" Sam cried, realizing what was happening. "Dean, I'm not leaving!" Dean continued to sob and grab at him, one hand successfully grasping at Sam's T-shirt. "Dean!" Sam grabbed his brother's waist pulling him close. Dean struggled against him, and Sam brought is free hand up to stroke the hair at the nape of his brother's neck. "Shhh, Dean, it's OK, it's OK, no one's going anywhere, I promise, no one's leaving…" Dean collapsed against him, sobs shaking his whole body, which suddenly seemed painfully fragile. Sam continued to brush at his brother's hair, pulling him close with the other arm, muttering utterly nothing sensible. "No one is leaving, Dean," he whispered.

A dying sob bubbled up Dean's throat, sounding almost like a cough. "Everyone always leaves me," Dean whispered, boneless in Sam's arms.

Sam wanted to protest, but the shifter's words rang in his ears. Mary had left Dean, not by fault of her own, the few friends they'd had as hunters had left them because of John's aggravating personality, Sam had left, and even John had left. Somehow, Dean was always forgotten and abandoned. Sam sighed, pulling himself onto the bed and Dean into his lap. "I know, Dean, I know."

"Is it me?" Dean whispered in his ear, a quiet, wet sob following. Sam could swear he felt his heart rend in two.

"No, Dean, no. It's not you, it's never you. You're the best brother and son and heck, friend that _anyone_ could ask for, got it? It's not you."

Dean squeaked a small half sob, collapsing against Sam entirely, still sniffing pitifully. Sam carded his fingers through Dean's hair, shushing him gently, occasionally rocking him slightly. Dean calmed, and there was a moment of blessed quiet before Dean sobbed again. "Sorry. Selfish."

Sam let his head slam against the backboard of the bed. "Dean. How are you selfish?" Dean tried to pull away from him, but Sam tightened his grip and readjusted him in his lap. Dean squirmed, and Sam felt his brother's head raise. He pulled back to look at Dean, whose eyes were teary and full of raw shame. "Dean?"

"I didn't wanna be alone," Dean whispered, his head falling against Sam's shoulder. "I ruined Stanford 'cause I didn't wanna be alone."

Sam sighed. The chances of him strangling his brother were steadily going up. Dean had started to cry again, so Sam pulled him closer again, feeling every sob that shook his usually tough-as-nails brother. "Dean. _You _did not ruin anything. The thing that killed Jess, that's what ruined Stanford."

Dean gave a muffled cry. "No. I took you away. My fault."

"Dean! I already told you, I don't blame you for that. It wasn't your fault, alright? Fine. You were lonely and you got me at Stanford. So what?" Sam felt a lump forming in his throat. "I should have called, Dean. I should have let you call. _I _was being selfish, OK? Dean sobbed again, but he was calming, and he nodded slightly. "And you couldn't have know what would happen." _That's my burden_.

But what was supposed to be calming only set Dean off again. "I don't know what to do," he whispered, even his voice sounding wet with tears. "I… I can't… I don't know what to do."

"About what, Dean?" Sam said, stifling another sigh.

"These… these visions, Sammy." Sam stiffened. Here it came. Dean was disturbed by his visions. Sure, he laughed it off, but… But visions… In the black and white of Dean's world, that was in the realm of what they hunted. Sam was in the realm of what they hunted. "I… I don't understand. I don't know what they are. What if they're dangerous?"

"Listen, I'm not getting any bloodthirsty urges or anything, Dean…"

Dean jolted away from him, eyes wide. "What?" he croaked. "Wha… I… Sam. Sammy. I don't… you're not… No!" Panic seemed to have gripped Dean, so Sam reached for him, but Dean caught his arm and grasped it tightly. "I meant to you. I meant… I…" He burst into sobs again, and now Sam felt like a real class act.

"Dean, no, I'm sorry, I didn't mean that you'd… God, Dean, I'm sorry. It's OK. They don't hurt. The visions, they… I feel fine after them, really, Dean." He hugged his brother to himself. "I'm sorry."

"Not… not your fault," Dean gasped out, shaking. Sam cradled him again until he calmed. This time, he didn't start right back up again. Sam wanted to ask how he was doing, but he didn't want to set off another attack, so he just carded his fingers through his brother's hair and shushed him. "This feels nice," Dean said suddenly, his eyes closed. "Really nice."

"You know, if you'd let me, I'd baby you like this whenever you were hurt," Sam said. _Which is a lot._

Dean sighed contentedly, melting into his brother's arm, leaning into the hand on his head. "Can't."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Why not?"

"Sammy, you don't remember Dad back in the day. I was four and I was the only person that got him through. I took care of him, not the other way around. Same with you. And if you guys have to take care of me… It just makes it harder." He paused. "Besides, it's never gonna be the same as…"

He cut off suddenly, going stiff. "Dean?" Sam said, twisting to look at his brother, whose eyes flicked up to meet his, full-blown panic filling them. "Dean, what is it?"

"Sammy," Dean managed, on the verge of hyperventilating. "It's… it's back. It's… Sammy!" The last word was almost a wail, and he buried his face in Sam's shirt again.

"Dean! Dean, what's back?" Sam cried. Dean was scaring him. He put his hand on Dean's shoulder. "Dean!"

Dean seemed to find great difficulty in dredging his face out of Sam's shirt. "It's in my head again!" he wailed.

Sam's stomach dropped. He'd read about this part, but had discarded it as unimportant. It was only in special cases where the victim had some kind of especially crippling or painful emotion or memory that was all or partially covered by the shock reflexes. The poison would only find this part after a while of working, and would then tear those defenses down as well, causing almost physical pain for the victim. Sam tightened his arms around his brother. "Dean. Breathe, alright? It's going to be OK."

Dean choked loudly on a sob. He was shaking like a leaf, and he felt about as fragile in his little brother's arms as one as well. "Sam, I can't, I can't," Dean sobbed. "Please!" The panic was audible in his voice as his fingers dug painfully into Sam, trying to gain some kind of handhold. "No! No, Sammy! Please!" He shuddered, then, with a great gasp, screamed one word so loudly Sam was afraid the whole town would hear the pure agony within it. "MOM!"

That was the last intelligible word for the next hour, which seemed like days. Dean writhed and screamed and sobbed when he needed to gasp for air. Sam just held him close, feeling his brother's tears soak through his shirt like a bucket had been dumped on him, eyes squeezed shut as if that could block out his brother's screams.

_How old were you when Mom died?_ he'd asked. What he should have asked was, _How old were you when your life was ripped to shreds? How old were you when you took over the family? How old were you when you stopped being a child? How old were you when everyone stopped loving you the way you needed to be loved? How old were you when your wants and needs and pains were all forgotten? How old were you, Dean?_

_Four._

Sam could vomit. He could kill himself for even pretending that the pain he felt for Jess was even close to what Dean felt over Mom. Mom, who his little brother didn't remember anymore. Who his little brother hadn't even wanted to avenge until his stupid girlfriend was involved.

"I'm sorry, Dean, I can't tell you how sorry," he whispered uselessly.

Dean finally slumped against him, mouth still open with dead screams, wheezing slightly with every breath. Sam pulled him up slightly to look at him. His eyes were hollow and tired, and Sam shuddered. "Dean?" he asked. "Still with me, bro?"

Slowly, Dean blinked and forced his eyes to focus on Sam, closing his mouth and nodding ever so slightly. "Tired," he managed, his voice sounding like he'd swallowed broken glass. "So tired."

"Can you sleep?" Sam asked, hoping the poison was done with him now and would let Dean sleep.

"Nuh," Dean said, apparently too tired to shake his head. "Can't… stop…" He gasped for breath. "t'lk'n…" He gasped again. "…either."

Sam shook his head. "I think this gets the award for most cruel poison."

Dean's mouth twitched in as much of a smile as he could manage, and his eyes fluttered closed again. A moment later, with a little sound Sam assumed was a very, very tired sob, they opened again. He sighed, hugging his brother with the one arm wrapped around him. He squirmed slightly as he noticed that his body was protesting at the time spent with Dean.

"I've gotta go to the bathroom. Are you gonna be alright?"

"Mmm," Dean managed. "I was… conf's'd earlier. 'Long's you're…" He gasped again. "Coming back."

"Of course, Dean. In just a second."

He lifted his brother off of himself and laid him back down on the bed. He hurried to the bathroom and came back as soon as he was done. Dean was staring at the wall, eyes filled with tears that didn't even escalate to sniffles but just rolled silently down Dean's face. As Sam neared, he realized that Dean's lips were moving, and as he got back to the bed, he could barely hear it.

"Exploding toilet, Dean? Really?" he said, trying not to laugh. Dean jumped, apparently just noticing Sam, and looked at him guiltily.

"Sorry," he mumbled.

Sam sighed and slid into the bed next to his brother, snaking his arm under his brother's head. "It's alright, Dean. I know you worry, it's just a little ridiculous."

"Stupid. I think'v all this stuff th't could happen. It's so… so stupid, c's I couldn't help w' most've it anyway, 'ven 'f you can't take care've yours'lf anyway." He fell silent, wriggling closer to Sam so slowly that Sam took pity and pulled him closer. "'S worst when you're late."

At least Dean was more coherent than he'd been at first. Maybe the poison was on its way out. Looking at Dean, Sam was knew it had to be. For Dean's sake it had to be. Dean's eyes had fallen closed again, then wrenched open by the poison again. "I'll call next time I know I'll be late. That's normal for anyone who works together."

Dean nodded. "Good," he rasped. "'S good, S'mmy." He paused, squirming with discomfort. "Ask qu'stions, S'mmy. Too tired to think've things t'say."

"OK, Dean. Um…" he tried to think of something. "The shifter…" Dean let out a soft whimper, and Sam regretted the words instantly. "Sorry. But it said that you'd wanted to go to college too. What for?"

"Cars," Dean said. "But n't jus' fix'n'm. Mak'n. Like… w'dummies."

"That would have been perfect for you. Bringing back the classic styles, huh?" Sam said, trying to keep the mood light. Dean smiled, then swallowed painfully. "Alright, new question…" he grinned, hoping his teasing wouldn't go astray. "Me or the Impala?"

"You," Dean said instantly, eyes closing and jerking open with a little croak again.

"Dean! That wasn't supposed to be an easy question!" Sam whined, grinning ear to ear. "Fine. Umm…" A terrible thought crossed his mind, and before he knew it, he'd blurted it out. "Why'd your eyes bleed with Bloody Mary?" Sam could have died on the spot. Dean choked slightly, shaking.

"Sammy," Dean whimpered. "Don't…"

"I'm sorry, Dean, I'm sorry, don't answer," Sam pleaded. "Forget it."

"There… was… a water succubus…" Dean choked, as though the words were being dragged from him, tears running down his face.

"Dean, stop. You don't have to tell me. Tell me about something else. Tell… tell…" Sam searched for something safe to ask. Something that wouldn't hurt his brother as much as he already had.

"… Dad… thought… I was… was too young for it to… feed off've me," Dean gasped out, unable to stop. "So after he… got it once… we split up…"

"Did you really make out with my girlfriend in junior year?" Sam blurted. "Dean, answer that, answer that, please."

Dean collapsed with relief. "Yeah," he wheezed. "Yeah, but she…" He coughed quietly. "… she started it. She d'nt deserve you."

"Jerk," Sam said, making sure Dean could see him smile. His eyes were barely open, but he smiled tiredly, but he didn't return with his usual retort.

"'M so tired, Sammy."

"I know, Dean, I know."

"Not your fault," Dean managed, eyes closing and snapping open again. Sam knew what he meant, but he hadn't forgiven himself. There was no way it wasn't his fault. Dean's eyes closed again, then opened. "Tired." He closed his eyes a third time.

"Sleep, Dean," Sam said softly.

Dean sighed softly and relaxed. His eyelids fluttered a few times, but they finally stayed closed, and he slowly melted into sleep. Sam silently thanked God and closed his own eyes. It had been a long, long day.

Second chapter? Awful? Maybe? Don't ever write again? It's all good people, let me know!


	2. Picking Up the Pieces

_So, I've gotten a few really awesome reviews asking for more, and who am I to argue? I have some ideas other stories that will probably be similar to this (I can't get enough of tormenting Dean), so you can always check those out when I get to posting them. Thanks to everyone who alerted, favorited, and especially reviewed! This will probably be the last chapter of this story, but there's more where that came from, and the next one will probably be longer._

_Also, writing this on my grandmother's computer where I can't turn off the grammar checks so that I can reinvent syntax… pain in the butt. Seriously._

_Disclaimer: I own nothing. If I did… I'd be rich. And awesome._

Dean slept for the next two days. Sam was worried, but Dean looked so peaceful that he felt a little relieved as well. It was a constant battle of wondering when sleep stopped helping and started tearing his brother away from him for good. But that wasn't all. There was also the fact that he wanted to see his brother whole again.

That made him sick all over again. Was Dean really whole, or was that just an act that would help Sam and not Dean? He found himself cradling his brother every so often, wanting to wrap him up and protect him from what was outside, inside, from Dean himself and Sam himself and everything, whispering to Dean how much he loved him, how much he had done from Sam and John, what a wonder he really was.

Two days of utter misery, not knowing what to expect when Dean woke up, and then Sam woke to find Dean's eyes looking at him from under his lashes. He shot out of his own bed and nearly collapsed beside Dean's in record time. "Dean?" he asked, his voice unable to rise over a croak.

Dean opened his mouth a made a little squeaking noise. Closing his mouth angrily, he tried again, but this time there was even little noise. Sam put a hand on his brother's cheek. "Can't talk?" Dean shook his head, but tried again, tears coming to his eyes in frustration. "Throat hurt?" Dean nodded, apparently giving up on his efforts to speak. Sam picked up a notepad on the side table and dug a pen out of one of the drawers. "Here."

The covers over his brother twitched a few times, and then Dean fixed him with a melancholy, helpless look. Sam realized the problem and dragged his brother's hand from under the covers. It shook him that Dean was too weak to lift blankets, but he said nothing. He pushed the pen in Dean's hand and directed the hand gently to the paper.

Dean wrote, his hand shaking from the effort. His letters looked like that of a five-year-old, but they were legible. "Bathroom?" Sam read. "Oh! You need to go?" Dean nodded. Sam looked at him, sighing. "Um…" He rubbed at his face. If Dean could barely lift his arm, could he go to the bathroom? "I'll carry you there."

Dean made face, and Sam almost giggled with the normality of it all. "Don't look at me like that. You can't walk." Dean looked at him as if to say, 'Watch me,' but he let Sam slide his arms under Dean's knees and his shoulders. "Ready?" Dean nodded, and Sam pulled him up with a grunt. Dean wasn't exactly light. Dean made a noise that was something like a moan. "You OK?" Sam asked, concerned.

Dean managed half a nod, raising a shaking arm to point at his head before quickly grasping back onto Sam as he slipped slightly. "Head hurts?" he asked, clutching Dean tightly now, afraid to let him fall. Dean nodded slightly. "Alright, let's get to the bathroom and then you can rest some more." He figured he was comforting himself as much as he was Dean, because he wasn't looking forward to carrying Dean all that way.

It was a slow march to the bathroom, but they made it. He set Dean down beside the toilet, and Dean reached out to grip the counter above the toilet, managing to pull himself to almost standing. "You can manage alone, right?" Sam asked, hoping beyond hoping that Dean could. Dean had suffered enough humiliation. Dean nodded, and Sam hurried away before Dean got too tired.

He stood outside the door until he heard the toilet flush and a small knock. He opened the door to find Dean sitting by the sink, almost asleep. "All good?"

Dean managed a quiet, "Mmm." Sam grinned and pulled Dean into his arms again. Dean was even more boneless than before, and Sam realized he was asleep again. He walked back to the bed and laid his brother down, smiling slightly. Dean would be alright. He always was. He looked at his brother's peaceful face and smiled. He'd all but promised his brother that he would still view him as invincible, and he would damn well give him that much.

-X-

Dean slept straight through another day. Sam's worries returned as he realized Dean hadn't really said anything of value when he had woken up, and could have still had some lingering scars that the poison had caused. When Dean finally woke up the next morning, Sam had once again worried himself near collapse.

This time, Dean already seemed a great deal stronger. He struggled to sit up, but he sat up nonetheless, looking blearily at a much relieved Sam for a moment before letting out a sneeze that could have probably exploded his head if he'd held it back. His face scrunched in pain, and Sam was by his side in a second. "Dean?" he asked. "What's the matter?"

Dean waved him back. He tried to say something, but only managed to grate at his tortured vocal chords. He glared sharply at nothing and pointed at his throat, then his head. "Want some Advil?" Dean nodded glumly and nearly rocketed himself into the headboard with another sneeze. Sam did his best not to laugh.

He came back with some Advil and water, both of which Dean gulped down so quickly he choked. "Shoot." Sam sighed and pulled his brother straighter so that he could swallow. Dean sniffed, looking like the very picture of misery.

Sam sat down beside his brother and placed a hand on his forehead. Dean jerked away, then leaned into his touch as soon as he'd fulfilled his pain-in-the-ass brother duty. Normally, Sam would have assumed that this meant he felt really, really bad, but now… maybe Dean was still just a little raw. And a little warm. "Fever. Man, Dean, you never do anything halfway, do you?"

Dean 'hmpf'ed, crossing his arms. He pantomimed writing with his hand and Sam quickly handed him the writing pad. He wrote something and displayed it, holding it like a shield into Sam's face. Sam sniggered. It wrote, "Cheeseburger?" He nodded. "Sure, Dean. You up for going out?"

Dean nodded eagerly, getting off the bed a little too quickly and swaying dangerously. Sam helped him stay upright, gently pushing against his back and saying nothing. Dean regained his balance and made his way slowly to his boots. He plopped down in one of the chairs to put on his boots, then carefully stood up again, looking and grinning at Sam as if to say, "Look how good I am!"

Sam smirked at his brother's triumph and resisted helping him to the door. Dean was walking like a three-year-old, but he was steadily making it to the car. At least he went straight for the passenger seat. Sam went to the driver's seat and drove to the nearest sit-in diner. Dean didn't hesitate to grin flirtingly at the waitress while Sam ordered for both of them. He ruined it with an explosive sneeze, but the way she babied him afterwards didn't seem to be all that unwelcome either.

Dean finished his burger without a second thought, which Sam took to be a good sign. After they had gotten back to the car, he checked his brother's forehead. His fever was still light, but there. Dean scowled at him, but Sam ignored him. "Man, it sure is nice that you can't talk," Sam quipped, earning a menacing glare from Dean that said clearly that he was going to resort to the kind of talking that didn't take a functioning throat soon. Sam grinned.

Dean opened his mouth and managed something that sounded more like dust falling than 'Bitch,' but which nonetheless got the point across. "Jerk," Sam replied.

When they returned to their room, Dean made for the bed. Sam stopped him. "At least take a shower and get some clean clothes first?" he asked. "You're still wearing your dirty stuff from the woods."

Dean looked at his dirty clothes and nodded in acknowledgement. He eyed Sam, then grabbed the notepad. He scrawled something and handed it to Sam, leaning down to untie his boots to avoid looking at his brother. Sam read the note, looked up at Dean, then read it again. All it said was, "Hoodie?"

Sam sat down beside Dean. His boots had been untied for a long time now, but Dean was still bent in half, fiddling with them. Sam sighed, unsure of how to handle this. He laid his hand on Dean's back, but Dean didn't react. Sam opened his mouth and stayed there dumbly for a long time. Dean had almost entirely unlaced both boots when he finally said, "Sure. You can have my hoodie."

He patted Dean's back and went to get one of his smaller, brown hoodies for Dean. Dean looked relieved when he took it from Sam and quickly went to shower. Sam, in the meantime, sat down heavily on one of the beds. He couldn't remember a time when Dean had actually _asked _to wear his hoodie. He put his face in his hands. He didn't want to confront Dean, force him to talk just like the poison had, but he didn't want his brother to have to deal with this all on his own.

He sat on the bed worrying until Dean was done. Dean smiled at his own bed like it was heaven and crawled straight into it, not even giving Sam the chance to say anything before he was dead asleep. Sam smiled and went to his own bed. He was asleep quickly, but there was no reprieve from his usual nightmares.

He woke to a small whimper. It took him a moment to recollect himself before he realized that it had to have been Dean. He shot up, entirely alert in one moment. "Dean?" he whispered, not wanting to wake Dean if he was wrong. "You alright?"

Dean moaned, struggling against the blankets he'd managed to tangle himself into. Sam stood and walked over to his brother, who appeared to be asleep, eyes shut and his face contorted in pain and panic. He kicked out against the blankets, and Sam reached out one hand to steady him while he untangled his panicked brother. Dean let out a frightened cry and tried to roll away, finding his blankets still in his way. Sam settled his hand on his brother's head. Dean squirmed, but Sam kept his hand steady. "Dean," he said loudly. "Wake up. You're having a nightmare."

Dean whined and tried to escape his attacker, moaning when Sam clung to him. "Dean. Wake up," he repeated, sounding severe, like his father giving orders.

Dean shot up, attempting to scream and ending up with a loud choke and a lingering cough. Sam rubbed his brother's back until Dean managed to get some air in. Dean gasped for air desperately, then looked up, confused. "Where…" he rasped, coughing some more.

"Motel, Dean," Sam said. "Remember? The motel?"

"Got back?" Dean asked, rubbing at his eyes clumsily. His voice was still rusty, barely managing a whisper.

Sam nodded. "Yeah, we got back."

"Woodpecker dead?" Sam couldn't help but notice the fear that laced into his brother's question.

"Yeah, Dean," he said. "And trust me, we're never hunting one of those again."

Dean mumbled. "OK." He pulled himself under the cover again. "Go back to sleep." He closed his eyes and his breathing evened impossibly fast.

Sam gritted his teeth. "Dean, I know you're not sleeping." No response. "Dean." He sighed and went back to bed in defeat. Hopefully his brother would be ready to talk to him eventually.

He hadn't even fallen entirely back asleep when he felt a little nudge at his side. He looked up at Dean, who loomed over his bed, looking ashamed. Dean rubbed at his collarbone where the woodpecker had gotten him and said nothing. "No, Dean," Sam said, feeling mean about it but knowing Dean needed it.

Dean stared at him, wide eyed, looking crushed. Sam rolled over and closed his eyes. There was no sound from his still brother for a long time, then a crinkle of sheets as Dean crawled slightly onto his bed to poke him on the shoulder. "Get out of my bed, Dean," Sam growled, refusing to look at his brother.

The bed dipped as Dean sat on the side of it, presumably baffled. "Sam?" he squeaked.

"You made it clear you were fine and I really just want to sleep, so no cuddling."

The dip was removed from his bed and he could hear the other bed creak. He waited. Dean sniffed. He counted down. "It just hit below the belt, you know?" Dean whispered finally.

Sam rolled onto his back. "I know. But we're here to help each other, Dean. You don't have to work through all this alone." He paused. "Listen, I'm not saying you have to spill your heart out to me every day, but… let me at least know when you're not OK."

Dean sniffed again. "Sam, don't bother. You know now anyway."

Sam wanted to sit up, but refrained. "Know what?" Dean didn't reply. "That you're weak?" Dean's sniff told all. Sam sat up, but Dean wouldn't look at him, staring at the ceiling with great interest. "Because I don't know that. All that I've gotten from this whole thing is that you're the strongest person I know." He waited for a response, clearly in vain. He sighed. "Dean, if I was in as much pain as you, if I had as much on my shoulders as you, I would have collapsed ages ago. So what if clinging to dad and me is your way of dealing with more than _anyone _should have to deal with?"

Dean rubbed at his eyes and subtly turned a small sob into a cough. "You mean it?" he whispered, going even quieter than his throat forced him to. Sam marveled at his brother. Amidst all his toughness, Dean also managed to be like a little child.

"You bet I mean it, Dean." Sam got up and slid into his brother's bed, taking the blankets into his hands. "And even if you let me share some of that weight, you'll still be my freaking hero, you got it?"

Dean nodded as Sam settled the blankets around both of them and then pulled Dean into his long arms. "Thanks, Sam," he whispered, shuffling closer and laying his head against Sam's shoulder.

"Thank _you_, Dean," Sam answered, feeling Dean drop off in his arms. He grinned. "You're still a jerk, though."

"Bitch," Dean mumbled back with a tiny smile before he fell asleep.

_D'aw. Anyway, hope you liked! I love reviews and I am not ashamed to beg for them. :D_


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